


In Sickness and Health

by mldrgrl



Series: Adventures of The Lady Detective and The Writer [44]
Category: Californication, The Fall (TV 2013)
Genre: F/M, Honeymoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 20:46:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14120475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mldrgrl/pseuds/mldrgrl
Summary: A happy Hanella honeymoon...not really





	In Sickness and Health

Hank groaned in a combination of both agony and ecstasy.  Above him, straddling his hips, Stella paused, the heels of her hands pressed deep into his shoulder blades, and then lifted her hips up so she was on her knees.  He groaned again, this time in dismay.

 

“Too much?” she asked.

 

“I’m fucking dying,” he answered.

 

“Such dramatics.”

 

“You don’t have any sympathy at all for your poor, crippled husband, do you?”

 

“Crippled?  You’ve surpassed drama and escalated to hysteria.”

 

“You know how they used to cure hysteria in the--ow, fuck me!”

 

Stella moved off of Hank to sit beside him.  He whimpered pathetically and she passed her hand down his spine to his low back.  It took every ounce of strength he had left, but he managed to turn himself over on the bed.  His face contorted into a grimace of pain as he squinted up at his wife.

 

“Happy honeymoon, Sherlock,” he said.

 

“I suppose it could be said that you warned me.”

 

“I did.  I did warn you.  Not so good at the sports.”

 

“That has become quite apparent.”

 

“Sorry you married me?”

 

“If I were, it wouldn’t be because of your inability to ski.”

 

“What about the inability to fuck you on our honeymoon?”

 

“That could tip the scales, yes.”  She smiled benignly and dropped a hand to his chest.

 

Every move Hank made took a lot of effort.  His back protested merely by raising his arm so he cover her hand on his chest.  He trailed his fingers up Stella’s arm, under the oversized, dark-grey sweater she wore.  He had grumbled about booking a trip to Switzerland, about the cold and the mountains and that he couldn’t ski for shit, but he liked the look of Stella in this place.  He liked the romance of blankets and fireplaces and socks and sweaters and her bare legs and blue eyes that looked even bluer in contrast with the snow. He was definitely sorry he had to bust his ass on the first day of the ski slopes and he would miss the good stuff.

 

“Shall we try the heating pad again?” Stella asked.

 

“You know, I might not be good at the sports,” Hank said.  “But I am a creative genius.”

 

“You want paper and pen?”

 

“I want you to sit on my face.”

 

The laugh Hank received as a reply was gratifying in its pureness and rareness, but disheartening since she apparently thought he was kidding.  He raised his brows at her and she raised hers at him.

 

“What?” he asked.

 

“You’re serious?” she replied.

 

“I think it was originally part of the ten commandments.”  He grinned. “Thou shalt sit on thy husband’s face when he’s otherwise incapacitated.”

 

“I’ve not been to church in some time, but I am quite positive that’s false.”

 

“You can blindfold me and give me the pussy equivalent of a Folger’s Choice taste test, and I’d nail yours every time, that’s how well-acquainted my tongue is with your sugar walls, so why are you suddenly so demure?”

 

“I’m not being demure, I would just prefer full participation.”

 

“Are you saying you only married me for my cock?”

 

“You have an extraordinary talent for twisting words, do you know that?”

 

“I may have been accused of that a time or two, yes.”

 

Stella made a move to get off the bed, but Hank tightened his grip on her arm and gave her a tug towards him.  She was careful when she straddled his chest and he tried to relax, but he flinched when he braced himself in anticipation of her weight coming down on him.  She shook her head as she loomed over him.

 

“You need a muscle relaxer and rest,” she said.

 

“I can not let you walk away from this honeymoon unsatisfied.”

 

“We have a week in this chalet, I do intend for you to keep that promise, but-”

 

“But, nothing.”  At the very least, Hank could move his arms with minimal pain, as long as he didn’t try to strain his neck or shoulders.  He managed to grip her thighs and slide his hands back to her ass, squeezing gently.

 

“Have I married a masochist?”

 

“Like you didn’t know.”

 

Stella grinned down at him and bent low enough to kiss his lips.  Hank took advantage of the moment to creep his hands up her sweatshirt, searching for her breasts.  He couldn’t quite bend his arms that way without pain and he groaned a little into her mouth.

 

“Hank,” she murmured, rubbing her bottom lip against his.

 

“Seriously though, Sherlock,” he growled.  “Isn’t my protracted misery a colossal turn on for you?”

 

“Not at all.”

 

Hank sighed in defeat and Stella slowly crawled backwards off of him.  She knelt beside him instead and took his hand into her lap when he tried to reach for her.

 

“Tell me what I can do for you,” she said.  “Heating pad? Ice pack? Another massage?”

 

“You know what would really help?  You take that sweater off and we spend the rest of this honeymoon as practicing nudists.”

 

“You’re incorrigible.”

 

“You should be flattered.  I’m practically on my deathbed and my only priority is seeing to it that you get one last mindblowing orgasm.”

 

“Mmhm.”  Stella gently placed his hand on his chest and got off the bed.

 

Hank growled his disappointment and flexed the toes on his right foot at her, which caused him to groan in pain.  He stuck his bottom lip out in a pout as she walked away from him and disappeared behind the wall that separated the room they were in from the hall.  He looked out the window. It was snowing again, big fat flakes that looked prehistoric somehow. It pissed him off that even the weather was conspiring against him to offer up this cozy setting for which he could not take advantage of.

 

Stella reappeared with an icebag in her hand.  She paused in the doorway and he could see her toes digging into the shag carpeting.  Fucking shag carpeting. Another conspiracy. He tracked her with his eyes as she padded over and sat down on the side of the bed.  With a deep sigh, he mustered up the strength to turn over again so she could set the icebag on his back. He tried not to flinch as it slouched into the dip of his lower back.

 

“You are more to me than a quick fuck,” she said.  “I hope you know that.”

 

“I had no intentions of making it quick,” he mumbled.”

 

“Even so.  If it were to come to pass, that this was the extent of our week, I would still love you.”

 

“No running off with Hans?”

 

“It would be quite tempting, but no.”

 

“Pinkie swear?”

 

Stella put her hand under Hank’s and hooked her pinkie finger around his.  He gave it a soft tug, which was just about all he had the stamina for.

 

“I’ll take that muscle relaxer anytime now,” he said.

 

“Wise decision,” she answered, slipping off the bed again.

 

Hank closed his eyes.  The bottle of pills from the infirmary were in the bathroom.  He heard her rummaging and getting water. He heard her come back and she passed her hand through his hair.

 

“Open your eyes,” she said.

 

Hank opened one eye and then the corner of his mouth was pulled into a happy grin.  “You’re naked, Sherlock.”

 

“Nothing gets past you, Watson.”

 

“Perhaps the week isn’t as lost as I thought.”

 

“Perhaps.”

 

The End

  
  



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